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Darlington’s touch on her arm snapped Alex out of her slightly desperate focus on counting her breaths, swallowing back bile, trying not to hear the squelching from the table.
“Here,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm on her neck, and pressed something hard but sticky into her hand. “Candied ginger. It helps with nausea.”
“Thanks.” She winced at the bite of it, but the churning in her stomach did start to ease a little. “How the hell do you get used to this?”
He shrugged, turning back to the operating table with a paler-than-normal face. “Honestly? You don’t.”